


when i knew love’s perfect ache

by starlightsonatas



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, but i had an idea, i'd like to formally apologize for adding more angst to this fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 07:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19127185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightsonatas/pseuds/starlightsonatas
Summary: A demon can't touch that which has been made holy by God. Crowley knows this well as anyone.And Aziraphale?Aziraphale is so holy it burns.





	when i knew love’s perfect ache

The first time they touched was 1200 A.D.

The Arrangement—though at that time it had only been an arrangement—was being finalized over dinner and wine. Crowley had held out his hand with a grin and watched the angel extend his own soft fingers and then—

_ow._

A sharp sting where Aziraphale’s skin touched his own. Crowley hissed under his breath as they shook hands. Of course. Holy being. It wasn’t as bad as, say, dipping his hand into holy water, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant.

Aziraphale, for his part, hadn’t seemed to notice anything. Crowley wished he hadn’t taken his glasses off for his dramatic speech, because then he could roll his eyes at the naivety. 

He pushed down the feeling of sadness rising in his throat. No matter the feelings he harbored for the angel, this was hardly the worst setback. Aziraphale didn't see him as anything but an enemy, perhaps now a tentative ally, but nothing more. Never anything more. So it didn't matter, really. It was minor inconvenience, at the most. It wasn’t like he’d be touching the angel much anyway.

And he could always wear gloves.

||| 

So they’d stopped the end of the world. Cheers! 

In retrospect, Adam had done a rather bang-up job of restoring everything back to normal. Crowley was still a demon and Aziraphale still an angel, though perhaps they'd been taken off the payroll. In any case, they hadn't been bothered. There was also the rather more physical element to their relationship, a tentative thing that started with a brush of hands over dinner and progressed to Crowley happily draping himself over the angel on the (tartan) couch in the bookshop. Overall, it had been a very satisfying few months since the apocalypse that wasn't.

The thing was—

The thing _was_ —

The thing was that Crowley still burned whenever he touched Aziraphale. The firm grip of the angel's hands, or any part of him for that matter, was an uncomfortable heat that got worse the longer they were in contact. And now with this unspoken thing between them, there had been quite a lot more touching available to him.

He didn't mind it, exactly. The pain was bearable, and even if it had hurt as bad as the time he'd tap-danced his way through a church he still would have allowed Aziraphale's skin to press against his own.

But it made him unbelievably paranoid. Because if Aziraphale had known that his very touch burned Crowley, if he in all of his kindness and worry had even suspected it, he would never lay a hand on the demon again.

And that would hurt worse than all of the holy water in the whole blessed world.

 

||| 

They were lying on the aforementioned couch when it happened.

They'd come back from a very nice dinner, Aziraphale's treat, and had promptly decided to take a nap together, which quickly devolved into less of a nap and more of a cuddle. The cuddle was mutating itself into a slow make-out. They might have passed a very pleasant evening had Crowley not forgotten himself for the slightest of moments.

Aziraphale was contenting himself with pressing gentle kisses to Crowley's neck and collarbone, while Crowley writhed under him, impatient. Impatient, and also a little bit uncomfortable with the growing pain where Aziraphale's hands were digging into his chest.

Crowley growled playfully as the angel continued to kiss him chastely. "Bloody tease," he complained.

Aziraphale laughed softly, and slid his hand down to rest against the vulnerable skin of Crowley's hip.

"Fuck!" Crowley hissed, and then clapped a hand over his mouth.

Aziraphale drew back. "Crowley?"

Shit. Shit shit shit. "Nothing," Crowley said smoothly, collecting himself. "Go on, won't you?"

To his chagrin, Aziraphale did not go on. What he did do was gently pull at Crowley's belt just so that he could see where his hand had been, and then drew back with a soft gasp. "Oh, my dear..."

"What?" Crowley asked, trying to quell the rising panic in his gut. He sat up to see what had shocked the angel, and _oh,_ that was new, wasn't it? A faint handprint glowing red against his pale hip, still tender when he poked at it curiously. "Huh."

Aziraphale was quiet, and when Crowley looked at him he saw that the angel was staring down at his hands.

"Zira?" Crowley asked warily.

Aziraphale didn't look up. "Holy objects."

"What?"

"You can't... consecrated ground burned you, how could I not..."

"Angel," Crowley murmured. "Look at me." When Aziraphale did, eyes bright with pain, Crowley's heart twisted. "It's alright. It doesn't hurt."

"Don't lie to me," Aziraphale whispered. "I can't... every time? Is it like this every time I touch you?"

"No, Aziraphale," Crowley insisted, fear churning in his stomach. "No, it isn't, I barely feel it." He reached out to touch Aziraphale's cheek.

The angel flinched back, and Crowley sucked in a sharp breath.

"You let me hurt you," Aziraphale said, voice cracking. "Why on earth didn't you say anything?"

"Because I knew this would happen!" Crowley said, voice rising in his panic. "You'd freak out and I'd have mucked things up again."

"No." Aziraphale shook his head. "I should have known. You're still a demon, but I let myself believe that maybe since we'd been on earth so long it would have been okay. It's my fault that I've been hurting you, Crowley."

Crowley's eyes went wide. "Don't say that. I led you to believe it was fine. And it is, really, I don't mind at all."

"But you should mind!" Aziraphale snapped suddenly, eyes burning into Crowley's. "I'm _burning_ you!"

"And it doesn't matter," Crowley said, staring back defiantly. "I swear I'd swim through holy water to be with you, angel, I-"

Aziraphale stood quickly. "Listen to yourself, Crowley!"

Crowley, for his part, didn't stand, because his legs were shaking too much for him to do so. Instead, he turned to face his angel, reaching his arms out imploringly.

"Angel," he begged. "Sit down."

Aziraphale looked for a moment that he would, but then a glassy look came over his eyes and he shook his head. "I can't," he whispered.

Crowley's skin went cold as ice. "Aziraphale."

Aziraphale drew back into himself. "I think you should go," he said, very quietly. "Just for a little while. I need, I need to..."

And he was gone in a flash of painfully angelic light, and Crowley was alone.

 

||| 

Crowley went back to his flat and screamed himself hoarse.

||| 

He slept for the next week, spent the one after that smashing everything in his apartment, then miracled it back to normal and started the cycle anew. It was an incredible cathartic month. But even when he'd gotten all of his reactionary anger out, the despair settled over him like a corrosive dust. If he'd kept his damned mouth shut he would be back in Aziraphale's home, and they'd be feeding each other crepes or something equally as soppy.

But the secret was out, and Aziraphale didn't want him anymore.

Crowley cursed himself. Six thousand bloody years of waiting and being careful and once he had the one thing he wanted most, he let himself slip. He'd dared to allow himself one good thing and he'd ruined it, such was his nature. A crawling, slithery, ugly, tainted thing not worthy of touching something as pure and wonderful as Aziraphale, and the proof was on his skin.

The phone had been ringing nonstop for weeks now. He refused to answer for fear of what he might hear.

Crowley dug his nails into his skin and imagined it was his angel.

It just made him hurt more.

 

||| 

It was on his fifth week of wallowing that there was a knock at the door. Crowley shuffled to the door and flung it open, staring at his other half with dead eyes.

"May I come in?" Aziraphale asked softly.

Crowley swept his arm back to gesture him in. "Door's open, innit?"

Aziraphale stepped through gingerly. Crowley's body ached to touch him. He followed him into his unused living room and flopped onto the couch, trying to appear nonchalant. From his expression, it was clear the angel wasn't fooled.

"I called," Aziraphale said haltingly. "Many times."

"You did," Crowley agreed. "I didn't pick up."

Aziraphale wrung his hands. "I thought I might give you some space. I suppose I was mistaken." Crowley would very much like to take the angel's hands in his own. He wanted to still their worried movements, press kisses to every finger. It would be a welcome pain.

The quiet stretched between them.

"You going to say anything?" Crowley asked bitterly.

"I love you," Aziraphale said. "I love you and it was wrong for me to leave you, to make you think for even a moment that I didn't want you anymore. I'm so sorry, my dear. You have every right to be angry at me."

Crowley looked up at him through slitted pupils. "If you think," he started, voice rough with disuse, "if you think for one second that it was you I was angry with, you're nowhere near as smart as I think you are."

There was a lengthy silence.

"Oh, Crowley." Aziraphale's eyes were watery. "Please don't blame yourself."

Crowley shook his head. "If I wasn't Fallen, I could touch you. As much as I liked. And you wouldn't—“ He wiped at his eyes angrily. "You wouldn't have to feel as if you were sinning."

"You are _not_ a sin. Not to me. I want to touch you." Aziraphale said firmly. "More than anything. Lord in heaven, Crowley, every time I blinked my thoughts went back to you. But I'm hurting you. And you've had more pain than anyone deserves."

"Do you think I care about pain?" Crowley asked, astonished. "I mean really, Aziraphale, would I have let you put your hands all over me if I didn't want them there? There are some things that are worth it." _And I can't think of anything more worth it than you._

Aziraphale bit at his lip. "That would be incredibly selfish of me."

Crowley stared at him. "I never wished you to be anything else."

Aziraphale wavered. "I can't give you everything you want. Not in good conscience."

"Whatever you give me," Crowley said honestly. "I will be grateful for. I loved you centuries before I knew what it'd cost me, angel, and I didn't stop once I did. But..." Crowley took a shaky breath. "You have to give me _something,_ Aziraphale. I need to know."

Aziraphale closed his eyes. "Crowley..."

"Come here," Crowley whispered. "Please. Just hold me for a moment."

Ever so slowly, Aziraphale did.

"We'll figure it out, love," Crowley whispered into Aziraphale's hair, even as his skin began to burn. "We always do."

And for the first time in a long time, he believed himself.


End file.
